April 16, 2017, 07:38 PM
Not exactly sure when this thread should be placed, but it’s set at some point in the indeterminate future when Kitsch is mostly healed, following this thread (which is also set to when Kitsch is in NWF).
@Prialux @West @Ondine
@Prialux @West @Ondine
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It was true, Kitsch had exited the territory without notifying West — and Kitsch wasn’t quit sure what West’s reaction to that would be. The girl wasn’t too eager to find out, either. It had been the first time [in a long time] that the battered lamb had even the slightest desire to wander, so she listened and had made her way south. It was as if her paws knew that she would find Prialux, a girl nearly just as wrecked as she was.
Kitsch had taken a liking to the beautiful wastrel almost immediately.
The pearl fed Pria the best she could, which amounted to nothing more than several spring mice and an absentminded grouse. Though Kitsch hated the peasant's chore [and spent many minutes cleaning the bloodstains from the down of her fur], each and every one of her kills went to feed her friend. It was only a few days that Kitsch went without food, but she had never before willingly given up her food for the sake of another. Somewhere deep inside, Kitsch felt pride glimmer at her charitableness. He had not been able to steal that part of her, too.
Kitsch was not the most skilled of travelers [her botched sense of direction was the reason she was in the wilds in the first place], but she had so recently made this same exact trek up north, shepherd along by the woman West. During that trip, Kitsch had been torn apart by the tenderness of her soul and and the tenderness of her body; she had paid attention to their surroundings more than anything else and had nearly memorized the way. Soon enough, she and Prialux gazed upon Neverwinter Forest; her home for the time being — and the inkstained girl was nervous.
Kitsch gave a sidelong glance to Prialux and circled back to stand abreast of her friend, gently bumping her shoulder as she pulled up alongside the girl. Kitsch could think of no better plan than to bring the yearling back to the Forest and hope West accepted patronage of yet another pale, wasted girl. There was no other hope for Pria, so it was worth a shot. Kitsch lifted her lips to the sky and sang for the women West to greet them, knowing well that her call might get a faster reaction than that of a stranger. Then, Kitsch’s heart skipped a beat and she quickly tacked on several tones to call for the Matriarch. This was Ondine’s territory after all, and Kitsch was embarrassed that she had so easily forgotten it.
[/td][/tr][/table]Kitsch had taken a liking to the beautiful wastrel almost immediately.
The pearl fed Pria the best she could, which amounted to nothing more than several spring mice and an absentminded grouse. Though Kitsch hated the peasant's chore [and spent many minutes cleaning the bloodstains from the down of her fur], each and every one of her kills went to feed her friend. It was only a few days that Kitsch went without food, but she had never before willingly given up her food for the sake of another. Somewhere deep inside, Kitsch felt pride glimmer at her charitableness. He had not been able to steal that part of her, too.
Kitsch was not the most skilled of travelers [her botched sense of direction was the reason she was in the wilds in the first place], but she had so recently made this same exact trek up north, shepherd along by the woman West. During that trip, Kitsch had been torn apart by the tenderness of her soul and and the tenderness of her body; she had paid attention to their surroundings more than anything else and had nearly memorized the way. Soon enough, she and Prialux gazed upon Neverwinter Forest; her home for the time being — and the inkstained girl was nervous.
Kitsch gave a sidelong glance to Prialux and circled back to stand abreast of her friend, gently bumping her shoulder as she pulled up alongside the girl. Kitsch could think of no better plan than to bring the yearling back to the Forest and hope West accepted patronage of yet another pale, wasted girl. There was no other hope for Pria, so it was worth a shot. Kitsch lifted her lips to the sky and sang for the women West to greet them, knowing well that her call might get a faster reaction than that of a stranger. Then, Kitsch’s heart skipped a beat and she quickly tacked on several tones to call for the Matriarch. This was Ondine’s territory after all, and Kitsch was embarrassed that she had so easily forgotten it.